


On the Brink of Insanity

by garmentedGadgeteer



Series: Quadratic Nonsense [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: 2nd Person / Karkat Vantas, Dream Bubbles, Dream/Reality line blurring, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garmentedGadgeteer/pseuds/garmentedGadgeteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat unwillingly goes on a picnic with John in a dream bubble, eating upon the top of a hill. After he consumes a piece of human food and disliking it greatly, things unnecessarily escalate to the point of unprecedented torture, even if it was only a dream. But dreams turn into nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unnecessary Complications

**Author's Note:**

> Half of this story was written on a car ride to LA, and may not be the best quality, nor was it really given a proper outline.

“Egbert, is this really fucking necessary for you to show me your romantic endeavors with me by following a shitty Earth tradition?” Your name is Karkat Vantas, and this event didn’t appeal to you in the slightest.

“Well of course, it’s not like it won’t be fun!” his ecstatic voice was not something you wished to hear.

“I had fun once; it was terrible,” you slipped a snide response towards the human.

“Tell me when we’re done how you feel,” the other slipped a rather delicious looking sandwich into the basket, of which you were going to take on the sickly green hills that John’s home planet has. This bubble was terrible in every aspect: the overwhelming brightness, the flora’s “aromas” that were supposed to be delightful, the patchy clouds dreamily floating in the sky, et cetera.

It may be perceived as beautiful here, but sure as hell it wasn’t where you came from.

Your minimal contributions to the basket were foodstuff that you beheld on your dead society; it’s to make sure that if your suspicions on the nutritive items human have to be invasive to your alien body, so you can actually fucking eat. “There is a minute possibility that I will be the shittiest partner in this ‘outing’ you wish me to partake in,” your arms dutifully cross, trying to stay your ground.

“Come on, I prepared this food for you.”

“What if it’s fucking poisonous?”

“Ugh, stop being difficult.”

“Make me.”

John uncrossed your arms, tugging on one towards the exit of his hive. Fortunately, the Egbert’s “lusus” was not present in this dream; you could honestly not stand another human at this moment. You grunt as he drags you out of the front door, you begrudgingly move your legs to aid his movements. The hives present were pretty much identical; you disregard the alien ways.  “This better be worth it,” you quickly responded as the neighborhood passes by, and soon the memory of rolling hills appeared, “because if it isn’t, you fucking owe me, Egbert.”

“Aren’t I already enough?” a small chuckle was rising from him.

“No. And none of your god awful friends can fix the shitty conundrum known as your obliviousness.”

“Pfft, not like you listen to me all the time”

“I try.”

“Sometimes trying isn’t enough.”

You were absolutely certain the other was having a blast reciprocating to your responses, and that he would use them against you, some day. It infuriated you, the inferior being blackmailing you. Your face became distorted at the notion you were putting onto yourself; letting the idea go would be ideal.

John looked at your face, confused. “Is there a problem, Karkat?”

“You already know the issue, Egbert.”

“Oh.”

He sighed, and stood where he was. It appeared as if he was observing the route to the top of the hills that were in… “Washington.” He placed his arms in the alcove under your shoulder, and flew you upwards. You almost flipped your shit, not liking the prospect of falling from such a height. Sure, you were asleep, but the experience isn’t any less traumatizing.

And you didn’t need more of that in your life.

You shifted uncomfortably, and he slowly lost grip of you. After a while of shifting, he gradually loosens his grip until…

Shit.

You fell, helpless without the other, and had nothing to fall onto. _It’s official, I’m fucked._ You tried to stay calm, until John—admittedly—heroically saved you by you by using his overpowered god-tier abilities. He flew you up, and you, in a quite embarrassing manner, landed in his arms, bridal-style. “Oh my fucking god, falling and now THIS?” you sent a threatening glare at him.

“Hehehe”

“This was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

“I expected you to figure that out earlier.”

“Ugh. Wasn’t the deal that you get a ‘date’ with me if you OMMIT your pranking tendencies?”

“Lighten up, Karkat.”

“Tone down the pranks.”

“Not sure that’s possible; I AM a trickster after all.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Who said I wouldn’t?”

 

You grunted in his grasp, the tallest hill looming in the distance. He was moving at the slowest possible pace you could imagine. _Move your fat ass faster you fucking dolt._ A well-placed kick tells your implied message. He moves faster, handing you the basket. Oh look, it’s a fine order of like-I-give-a-fuck; you would drop the basket if you didn’t want to try some things.

“You have literally reduced my dignity to a small sliver out-sized by the humble HYDROGEN ATOM.”

“Sheesh, no need to kill the messenger.”

“More like the harbinger.”

“Whatever.”

After what seems to be an eternity, you finally arrived at the top of an unusually green hill. He drops you into the grass, relived to be on actual ground and not in the arms of a “homophobic” and obnoxious prankster. John floats down, and places a plaid blanket over the moist grass, and ushers you to sit on it.

The wordless exchange is music to your auricular sponge clots.

He sat down, crossed legs, and placed the basket between you and him; he opened it slowly, as if it would bestow a prize comparable to your dancestor shutting the fuck up: Which both instances having a nigh percent chance to occur. It held a plethora of food items, from sandwiches to cakes—odd for him to deal with the Batterwitch. You snatch a sandwich, biting the corner of it.

“Do you like it?”

“Leave me to fucking eat it.”

“Well, one bite can tell the whole story.”

“Can you shut up and let me be thorough in my sandwich examinations?”

He shrugged, letting you to consume the breaded item in peace. You finished it, slowly putting a thumb up. It was rather tasty, the taste of meat still on your tongue. The odd condiments present in the sandwich weren’t bad, it just tasted—mind the pun—alien; the same went for the vegetables.

You reached for another, eating in silence. The other watched intently, eating his sandwich in small bites. You lacked the proper manners and, compared to him, you practically ravaged through one after another. After about the fourth one, he stops you.

“You better leave room for the desert.”

“The spongy cake of many ingredients forming a sweet and rather peculiar form of food?”

“The term is cake, Karkat.”

“And I thought you hated the ‘Batterwitch.’”

“Different brand.”

“Touché.”

He pulled the precut cake out, handing you a slice, and a corresponding utensil: the fork. You held both, and held a reaction on your face to express being confused…

?:B

Not exactly.

John saw your disdain, and showed how to eat the cake with his own slice and utensil; years of strifing with his father to abstain from eating the spongy substance usually ended with him forced to eat the cake. Sometimes you wish Egbert didn’t openly tell his life story.

But you were both on the same level: godhood; John’s god tier and you made a cancerous universe.

You stabbed the cake with your fork, and lifted the slice up. It was promptly stuffed into your mouth, the chocolate prominent in your tasting receptors. It was unnaturally sweet for you, and only after a while you could stomach it; the cake still felt sick going down your protein chute. The remaining particles were spat out from your mouth in utter disgust.

“How does your species even enjoy this shit?”

“Different ecological trees have different tastes.”

“And ability to stand the extremely awful.”

“I’m getting real tired of your bullshit.”

“And you know who could say the same? Me.”

You rummaged through the basket, pulling out your food specific to your society, of which doesn’t exist anymore. The food, when placed in your mouth, was easily consumed by your system’s familiarity to the substances. Deciding to give Egbert “his own medicine,” you force him to consume the food alien to his own body. A face of pure indifference is placed upon your head…

I:B

Seriously, where are you getting these fucking faces?

John shoves you, spitting the food out into the grass, retorting with “Retched,” and “Terrible.” He placed his hands onto your shoulders, pinning you to the ground. A small chuckle rises from him, being almost exactly alike to the one earlier.  You writhe under his restraining hands, barely getting anywhere. All you can do is jolt up and… you inadvertently kiss him.

 

“I’m sorry Karkat, but I am not a homosexual.”

“Nor am I; trolls are pansexual.”

“So you’re suggesting me to follow?”

With him distracted, you free yourself from his grip, sitting in front of your partner for this picnic-gone-wrong. Loathing surged through you, it plaguing your think pan in the most disturbing way… It wasn’t ashen; no, it was what you were ridiculed for…

Feeling caliginous with John Egbert.

You uneasily make a heart with your hands, surprising John before you flip it upside-down, showing him the true extent of your affections towards him: the purest form of black romance. The fabric of his god tier was quickly seized by your hands, jutting him towards you. Your yellow irises stared into the other’s blue pupils, biting his lip hard as you forcefully pressed yours against his.

His eyes dilating were only one part of the fun.

Your hands probed the back of his head, tugging onto his hair to make John let out shrieks of pain. This was just too precious of him, to respond exactly what you perceived who would do. The tugging of his hair was quickly replaced by sharp tugging on his ears; while in the same area, he removed the other’s glasses, breaking them in the process. You pulled away from the innocent boy, a smirk present in your lips.

“Holy shit.”

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“N-no! I would never enjoy being abused, even if it was for troll romance!”

“Is that a sweet and shitty lie?”

“Karkat, I don’t lie like that.”

“Fine, be persistent with your falsehoods.”

You lied back onto the blanket, arms folded behind your head. This was a good day for you, forcefully shoving someone into your caliginous quadrant; your kismesis was not entirely pleased with this notion. Speaking of which, he glared at you, anger present in him. It’s not like he would kill you… Even a human like him would know that such event would invalidate the relationship. But anything he did here wouldn’t matter, since you aren’t actually _there._

The next part wasn’t exactly expected.

 

John loomed over you, sneering at your smugness. You blatantly disregarded how uncommon he’s mad; this is a black relationship after all. But he wasn’t going to kiss you, he had other plans. His hands sized your legs, lifting you up, and blood rushing to your head. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…_ You were lifted into a rather distressing height, and before you knew it, he dropped you.

The searing pain from the impact was short-lived; you woke up milliseconds after the collision with the ground, the distinct “honk” coming from the horn pile. You were soaked in cold sweat, and it felt sticky when you sat up—another honk came. The sound of background conversation was present, but nevertheless, you stood up and walked into the main room where everyone was situated.

How the dealt with you wasn’t anything really new: …

“Yo, it appears Mr. Grumpy Pants woke up from his beauty sleep,” Dave gave Karkat the usual.

You glared at him, sitting down at a random chair. Rose quickly assessed the situation, and included herself in the pressing issue. “Karkat, it appears as if you had a problem pertaining to the bubbles,” her highly enunciated voice soothed you slightly, but it never left the obnoxious-level.

“No shit.”

“Would you mind telling me?”

“It has to do with John.”

You then continue to tell her about what happened, trying to stay as calm as possible. “… and then he fucking dropped me,” you mutter, your story complete. “Well that appears to be a rather, exciting experience you had with him,” she sighed “but to be fair, you did provoke him.”

“I didn’t provoke him, you shithead.”

“Then what did you do?”

“… I hit on him.”

The Strider was overhearing your soliciting, and a sharp “Oh” fills the room.

After that, an uneasy silence filled the room.

“That was not necessary, Dave.”

“Yeah but it was pretty fucking impeccable for me to interject that.”

“Of course it was.”

Rose rested a hand on your shoulder, sighing once more. “I’m not exactly sure how to rectify this situation, since it appears you anticipated to start a caliginous correlation with him,” she lightly pat his shoulder “and if I am one to judge the first meeting, you did quite well.” Rose looked at Kanaya, a nod coming from the troll in question.

You lumber back to the pile of horns, outputting a distinct honk, and go back to sleep—there was nothing else to do.


	2. Trip down memory lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The the very dynamic duo reunite, and Karkat is greeted with a violent--and rather bloody--surprise.

Dream bubbles were complicated fuckers: you don’t know which one you get, and sometimes they give you nightmares for weeks on end. You would loathe when you came in contact with Egbert again; you can’t say for sure you’ll know what he will do to you. But this won’t stay a mystery for long…

You have a date with destiny, and it sure as hell will be ugly.

This time, you’re in a familiar area: your hive. Every detail exactly as you remembered it, since, of course, this is a memory. You just assumed John isn’t here, and observed the openings in your block; everything is there, and upon further exploration, it’s night, and on Alternia. A sigh of relief escaped you, shutting the door to your balcony, sitting yourself at your husktop station.

You were messing around with the games on it when you heard a bang on your hive’s door.

A large, “SCREE” escapes your lusus a level down and you bolted up from your desk. You quickly ran down the stairs, oblivious to the possibility of the visitor being John. The moment you opened the door, the probability has become reality: John was stood outside the door, a crazed face present on him, and his weapon by his side.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“It certainly is me, numbskull.”

“Fuckass.”

“Asshole.”

“Heir to the throne of imbecilic heavy-breathers.”

“Now you’re getting sloppy.”

“I don’t care.”

He walked in very slowly, sadistic look still present on his face. This was so unlike him, was he preparing for…

Oh.

His hammer’s handle was pressed against your neck, and you were shoved to the wall, restricted by it. John scratched your cheek, drawing blood from the wound he inflicted; you flinched to this, trying to rotate your head away from him, only to be restricted by the other. His hands forced you to look into his eyes, his bloodshot eyes. “You gave me nightmares,” he coolly stated “and I intend to do the same to you.”

His hands traced the base of one of your horns, holding onto it tightly. A smirk filled his face as he applied leverage to it, inflicting pain to you; he slowly removed his weapon, replacing it with one of his own hands. It was flipped, a semi-hooked edge positioned on your horn. The end just being there hurt like hell, and it didn’t help when the horn was about to give…

And then, the sound of bone being broken filled your ears.

You practically screamed in pain, tears flowing down you cheeks, then onto your chin to drop onto his hand. His reaction was subtle, and had no sympathy. He truly thought this was applicable for how you acted. John wiped away your tears, soothing you; he figured out what would wake you, and what wouldn’t.

He was going to make it a sleeping hell for you.

Pleads escaped you, but he did not listen. Your sweater was torn off, and slashes made across your chest with the sharp edges of the hammer. Tears pooled at the floor, along with blood; agonizing pain swarmed through your body. He slowly stepped away from you, dropping you onto the floor. You thrashed, trying to wake up, but his demented soothing somehow comforts you.

You grabbed onto his shirt, lugging yourself up. The moment you despised him the most, and had the sudden urge to kiss him, he does it for you. John bit your lip with his semi-blunt teeth, lightly drawing blood with his canines. After he finishes his kiss of pain, you delve into yours, making his lips swell—the sharp edges of your teeth easily make him bleed, and your saliva is alien to his body, making the areas you bite bulge.

He was not dissatisfied, and threw you back onto the ground; Egbert was finished with you. “I hope you liked your moments with the pranking master,” his weapon was situated above your head, and it was dropped onto it. As with your last experience with him, you ended the session with a prominent pain present for a small bit of time.

This time when you woke, sweat was permeating your clothing.

You left no time to dawdle, and sprinted back to a random chair. You situated yourself down on the chair, and shuddered under the notion of meeting the breath player again. Rose stared at you, seeing the distress present in you; after all, she _was_ a seer.

“Karkat, what happened?”

“He came back…”

“And?”

“He fucking tortured me.”

“But doesn’t direct trauma wake you?”

“Practice. He had practice.”

You sigh, sulking in the chair.

“He decided to reciprocate my aggressive kiss in the first correlation of me showing my black feelings,” she listened, the slight ‘Mhm’ at key moments “and he broke one of my horns.”

“Would the feeling be relative to extreme pain, or extreme sexual pleasure?”

“… Rose, no.”

“I’m just asking a legitimate question.”

“Okay, fine. Most of the time, horn touching is entirely pleasurable, but when it comes to breaking them, it’s just pure, unadulterated pain.”

“And how did he break it off?”

“Some shitty weapon, a hammer of his… Similar to some Serket ancestry.”

“Ah, the Pop-A-Matic Warhammer of Vrillyhoo.”

“It distresses me how you know that offhand.”

“That’s not the only thing I know in such a way.”

You lean back in the chair, traumatized and nothing to do. Going to sleep wasn’t an option, and you sure as hell didn’t want to induce it yourself. It angered you knowing that this was your entire fault; you wish you could revert this back to normal…

You wish this wasn’t the alpha timeline.

You wish this was an offshoot, and everybody got along.

You wish everything was okay, and you didn’t reduce the sanity of Egbert.

You wish you had piece of mind, and not have to endure—

The exact moment you were about to conjure up another meaningful though, Dave waltzed in with impeccable timing—god fucking dammit, time players can get obnoxious. “You see, this is the ravenous Karkat in his natural habitat, humbly residing in the sector of,” he paused, waiting until everyone was on edge, “no one fucking cares.”

“Well that’s inconsiderate and inaccurate.”

“How so?”

“Firstly, I’m traumatized more than I ever had in my entire shithole of a life. And secondly, I have a _seer_ listening to me.”

“Tough luck.”

“Like I need your sympathy to deal with this problematic reoccurrence with John.”

“Wait, woah. Are you stealing my man?”

“What fucking quadrant?”

“I dunno, the heart one, I guess?”

“Then the answer is no.”

He snorted at you, walking casually to the shitty coffee machine. “And I suppose you don’t want to go to sleep because of his murderous hate, as far as I can see.”

“… That is actually accurate.”

“Yo, would coffee assist?”

“…”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged, pouring two cups of coffee and walked over to you. “Shit’s hot,” he handed you a steaming cup of coffee “the term shit become an adjective and describing the coffee.” You snatched the hot beverage, sipping at it, ignoring its scorching heat. It gave you some energy, but staying up on this wouldn’t be a fathomable outcome. As you were pondering over what to do, Dave was just standing by you, sipping his own drink.

You honestly hated your life, but dying wouldn’t help your case here. Dying would put you at risk with John 24/7, whatever that fucking term means.


	3. Delaying the inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping may have aided his endeavors to escape John, but there was one aspect he was forgetting: The meteor can go through dream bubbles.

You sat at the corner of your block on this meteor, bland features still present in the room. An endeavor to forcefully put yourself into insomnia wasn’t going exactly as planned: you were honestly very tired, and even the absurd human bed would be inviting and just rest for a few hours or so… Enjoying its beautiful folds—

No.

You ended your thoughts on resting, and decidedly so. The notion of sleeping in this current situation would be idiotic and could only end in further disdain. But still, the bed beckoned you… A few minutes couldn’t hurt…

Little did you know that it would’t just be for a few minutes.

Try a few hours.

And in those hours, your mind went reminiscing on what John did to you. He indeed kept up with his promise to give you nightmares; luckily, John wasn’t there to induce more nightmares. You couldn’t deal with this pain already, and even more would just burden you more.

You always held this position.

Again you woke, but this time you were in a drenched bed. It was uncomfortable to say the least. You were acting calm and whatnot; the opposite was in your head. It was running over possible situations, and making you pain even more.

Never had you ever wanted Gamzee this badly.

Someone will have to replace him for now, and that person would be Rose.

You practically ran towards her, and let the other coddle you. Taken aghast at first, she quickly understood the situation; you settled into her shoulder, crying as she comforted you. “Karkat, did John come back, in your dreams?” she inquired—her eagerness to help.

“N-no…”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“Nightmares.”

“And you wish to stay up, avoiding him?”

“Unless you can prevent me from meeting him again, yes.”

“Well, you know how dream bubbles, don’t you?”

“Not entirely.”

“Exactly.”

Of course she would know how to avoid dream bubbles containing an undesirable; you should’ve been aware. A long-winded explanation comes from her, not pertaining to your situation at hand…

“… and that is how they work.”

“… That was not necessary.”

“But this is: …”

Rose quickly gave you instructions to create a dream bubble of your own, and how to ward off any intruders that would destroy your slight sanity. She stood you up, sending you off to your block. This will better do, or someone’s shit—namely yours—will be flipped.

Reluctantly, you did a test-run of the experimental bubble. It seemed to be void of John, and anything else for that matter. You shrugged; it’s definitely better than nightmares, but not as inviting as your old hive. Perhaps thinking of it would make it change… The bubbles usually catch your drift.

It took hours, but eventually your hive does appear. You try to remove your thoughts on John.

_John? Who’s that fuckass?_

More hours disappear in your bubble. In more than one instance, small, brief images of your friends appear. Their “lifespans” are short-lived—literally in both senses. The only issue is… you’re bored out of your mind. Sopor was inviting, and it’s not like you’ll wake to a murderous and crazed—

Stop thinking about the human.

Uncertain what the dual-sleep will do, you ponder a bit before slipping into it. The sensation was odd, since you were unused to it, but nevertheless, you slip into a sleep… in your sleep. God, bubbles can be so fucking confusing.

This routine went on for weeks, until Egbert broke back into your dreams, memories at first, but then it grew into the actual, sentient being.

The time you met him again, was—unfortunately—on the top of the meteor, during a boring walk. You cursed when it passed through a bubble of John’s: It was on the Prospitian ship, hurdling through space. You were certain that he would hurt you severely, and leave you with lasting damage. Backup was needed, big time.

It required rushing down the stairs, and you applied that. You almost reached the others in the nick of time, but then… He came.

And you were immediately pinned to the ceiling.

“Egbert, I really think you should fucking stop.”

“Hehehehe.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“To me it is.”

He dropped you onto the floor, laughing at your pain. Kicking was promptly followed, hitting you anywhere that could bleed easily. His laughs gained audibility, becoming maniacal, not considering that others could hear him. And—putting the location into consideration—it was poor planning on his part.

Thank god.

Dave, of course, came first. He had slowed time down for him, and took John away for you. Rose had come to tend to your wounds, and Kanaya was to pacify the insane other. Rose was swabbing an antibacterial cloth onto your cuts and bruises, small squeals of pain arising from you. She kissed your forehead, putting her coddling into full effect.

“A-at least I tried to get to you…”

“Shh, it’s fine now.”

“I-I hate him… but I can’t d-deal with him now…”

 “He’s just literally alien to your quadrants; the extent of caliginous romance is not known for him.”

“K-kanaya told you?”

“Drunken states induce weird events.”

“N-no shit.”

“Shush.”

You weakly listen to her, and stop talking.

“Dave and Kanaya will talk sense into him, and how to properly run a black relationship.”

Still following her orders, you lightly nod to her words. If you could have a healthy kismesistude with John—refraining from extreme violence—brings peace to your think pan. You slowly stand, hugging Rose.

“Thanks for listening to me.”

“I’m always here to fix problems for anybody.”

After a few hours, the dream bubble fades, and you hope your friends rectified John with analytic reasoning. _Hope? You better be certain that your bulge muncher of a kismesis is fixed before you meet him again._ Only time will tell what will be.


	4. Making ends meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is, John wasn't used to this whole, "Troll Romance" shit, and overestimated what to do for a blackrom.

## Conclusion

Weeks have passed since John came and mutilated you. Wounds that were induced on you were healing well, and his indisposed behavior was punished: Jade and others on the galleon with Egbert were notified of his terrible behavior. He was telling everyone that he was better, and he’d no longer mess with Karkat.

They essentially placed a play date for both of you to work everything out.

You both sulked in an artificial memory. The white walls placed high, and everything else was just plain white, save the hardwood table and chairs; nothing else was present. You both sat down at the ends of the table, no one saying a word.

“So uh… Yeah,” John started.

“What? Are you even sorry?”

“I guess so… But I kinda think you deserved it, Karkat.”

“You think almost KILLING me was applicable since I gave you a bloody kiss?”

“Um… Yeah.”

“Why.”

“W-well…”

“Well what?”

A short silence filled the room.

“You were always so _pissy._ ”

“… John, would you be fucking happy if your entire life was being an outcast of society, a mutant? Would you be glad if your friends were murderers? Would you be ecstatic if your friends were jackasses to you? Would you be full of joy if you had to witness your friends’ de—?”

He stopped you there.

“Karkat, I’m sorry. I obviously had no idea what I was doing.”

You let out an “hmph.”

“So, healthy haters?”

“Kismesises.”

“Whatever. So is that a yes?”

“Whenever we get fucking together, the answer will be yes.”

“Oh, cool.”

“And I hope you know Strider fell-over-heels for you.”

You exited the room before John could answer you. Waiting for his response would be a sensation that made waiting a few more years that much more bearable. And when it came to after your experiences with him, it was only fair.

The horseshit-o-meter carefully resided its point on neutrality.


End file.
